Hemorrhage
by Fido the Finch
Summary: A mission gone wrong leaves Batman severely injured, and Jason can't do anything about it. For Bad Things Happen Bingo: bleeding out.


**A/N: For the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt: bleeding out.  
****Jason is Robin!**

"Don't move."

Jason tensed as an arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him back flush against what felt like a heavily-armored body.

"Batm—" he cut off with a choke when the arm tightened.

Jason reached his hands up, ready to use the self-defense moves Bruce had taught him before letting him on the streets as Robin. But the cold barrel of a gun pressed up under his neck, and that was enough to give him pause.

He felt warm breath ghost over his hair as the man behind him whispered, "Where's the Bat?"

The pressure around his neck released just enough he could breathe again. "In Gotham," Jason snapped.

There was a click; the gun cocked.

"Two ways to get the Bat's attention. Either you take me to him, or I'll blow Robin's brains out and he'll come to me."

Jason swallowed. He didn't really know where Bruce was; he was supposed to be keeping lookout while Batman investigated the office. His eyes slid up toward the door overlooking the factory floor. It was dark; no sign of movement.

"Last chance, kid. Where's—"

A quiet command through the comm unit in his ear: "Duck." Jason didn't hesitate, throwing the man over his back and into the Batarang that flew from a shadow in the corner.

The man cursed as he hit the floor. The Batarang was lodged in his thigh, the man's weight pressing it deeper. But his grip on Jason was strong, and though he had lost his hold it was enough to knock Jason to his knees with the momentum.

There wasn't time to scramble to his feet. Batman emerged from the shadows of old machinery. Jason reached to disarm the man while he was shocked from the fall. But the man was expecting it, and knocked Jason's arm aside, using it to steer Jason onto his stomach on the floor.

"Stay back!" The man shouted, toward Batman. From the corner of his eye, Jason saw those feet hesitate. While the man was distracted, Jason rolled out of the hold he had on his arm and landed a heavy kick to his chest. It winded the man, and Jason threw himself up and over to straddle him, pinning his arms to the floor.

"Found him," Jason smirked. He could hear the soft swish of Batman's cape approaching behind him.

The man's face twisted into something ugly, and his wrist bent an appalling amount to swing the gun around toward Jason.

There was a shot, so close it was deafening.

Jason held his breath, waiting for the pain that would surely follow. Instead, he heard a curse from below. He opened his eyes to see a batarang embedding the wrist of the man's sleeve into the floor. The gun was lying just out of his reach, next to him.

Jason released a breath. He was fine.

A pained grunt just a few feet behind him.

Jason's blood went cold. He snapped his head around. "Batman?"

At the same time, the man beneath him bucked, throwing Jason off to the side. Jason moved to roll out of the way, but a firm grip closed around his arm, pulling it out from under him, sending him crashing forward into the floor. Then it was being yanked back and up, into a more punishing pin. Jason grit his teeth.

"Stay back, or I'll dislocate the kid's shoulder," the man threatened. Batman stopped, hand twitching toward his utility belt. The man jerked back, forcing a pained sound out of Jason. Batman's hand halted.

The gun was just in front of Jason. He reached for it, but a foot stomped hard on his hand. Jason's breath hitched at the sharp pain that blossomed from the impact.

The man had to lean into the pin in order to reach the gun. Jason bit back a whimper as his shoulder burned on the edge of a pop.

The barrel of the gun, still warm from the last discharge, was pressed into the back of his head.

"Here's how this is going to go," the man said. "In a second, I'm going to let go of the kid's arm, and he's going to stand up and come with me." The gun clicked, making Jason jump. Another bullet loaded into the chamber. "If you try anything, so much as look at me funny, I won't hesitate to shoot."

Batman was silent, as much of an agreement as any criminal had ever gotten. When Jason was lifted to his feet—the grip around his arm bruising—he caught a glimpse of Batman's tightly clenched jaw.

The man adjusted his grip so Jason's arm was twisted behind his back and used it to shove him a step forward. He could feel the barrel of the gun digging into his back, between his shoulder blades. "Walk," the man ordered.

Jason walked. He was frog-marched away from the entrance to the abandoned factory. Batman slipped back into the shadows, and the man holding him hostage didn't stop him. Jason strained his ears, listening for the whisper of fabric indicating the older vigilante's location. He didn't have to listen hard; there was an unexpected clang of metal hitting metal from somewhere above and behind them. It was unlike the Batman to be so careless.

Jason strained to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse. When he tried the man pulled up higher on his arm, making Jason hiss and face the front again.

The man chuckled darkly. "Don't worry, he's coming."

Jason scowled. So far, he had managed to out-perform Dick in only one Robin category: avoiding hostage situations. Looks like his record wasn't so clean anymore.

The man pulled him to an abrupt stop in front of some of the old equipment. "Here will do," he muttered. Jason studied the machinery. It didn't look any different from anything else they had passed: a big metal box covered in pipes, gauges, and a few maintenance doors.

The man used the pressure of the gun between his shoulders to push him toward it. "Sit. Back to the big pipe."

The second he released Jason's arm, Jason pivoted to throw a fist into the man's stomach. But the man was ready for it, and he easily sent him tumbling backward into the machinery. Jason's head ricocheted off the metal before he slid to the ground.

"I was hoping you would give me an excuse to do that," the man said. He knelt next to the stunned boy. With one hand, he produced a set of handcuffs, which he used to fasten Jason's wrists around one of the pipes set into the ground next to him. He gave Jason a twisted grin and pat his cheek condescendingly. "Now we just have to call for daddy, right?"

Jason scowled. He eyed the gun, lazily swinging in the man's hand. "Fat chance."

With little more warning than a spreading grin, the gun stilled. The man pulled the trigger.

Jason's vision whited out for a few seconds. He thought he screamed.

There was frantic movement in front of him. A sprawling black figure fell from the ceiling. The man jerked back suddenly, and then Jason couldn't track what was happening, his attention drawn back to the fire in his thigh. There was the sound of another gunshot, followed by grunts and the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh.

And then it was quiet, and Batman staggered to kneel next to Jason. A heavy hand closed over the hole in his thigh, and Jason's back arched forward hard at the pain.

"Robin, status."

Jason shook his head, eyes squeezed shut.

Then there was a warm hand on his face. Glove gone. "Breathe. Like we practiced."

Jason took a shallow sip of oxygen through his lips, but it came back out too fast to do him any good.

"Look at me." The hand tilted his face up, away from his lap. "Come on, Robin, open your eyes."

Jason tried. He did. His breath caught on a sob.

"Sshhh, Jaylad. Can you look at me?"

At the gentle prompt, Jason managed to pry his eyes open. He stared into Bruce's eyes—the lenses of the cowl had been pushed back. Bruce started a slow inhale, and Jason followed. Like they had practiced.

Soon enough, Jason had calmed enough his awareness came back. The first thing he noticed was the man, sprawled unconscious and restrained on the floor several meters away.

The second was the hitch in Bruce's breath.

Jason's brow furrowed. "B?"

"I need you to tell me where else you're hurt."

Jason internally catalogued, mentally cringing away from the pain in his leg. "Just my leg." After a second of thought, he tacked on, "And I hit my head."

Bruce nodded, already moving down to examine Jason's leg. He pulled a bandage from his utility belt and wrapped the wound tightly. Jason hissed, and Bruce shushed him quietly.

"The bullet went all the way through. It missed your artery; you're lucky." Then, in the soft calm voice he used when teaching Jason in the Batcave, he said, "I have to check your pulse in your leg, to make sure the bandage isn't too tight." He placed his bare fingers at Jason's ankle. "Then we can leave."

Jason nodded. He regretted the movement; a headache was starting to blossom where he hit his head. He focused on his breathing again, as Bruce silently took his pulse.

He counted to sixty. One minute.

Bruce didn't move.

"Batman?" Jason wiggled his ankle, dislodging Bruce's fingers easily.

Then he noticed a third thing: Batman's free hand, clutching his side.

Jason's voice turned sharp. "B."

Bruce slumped, like someone had cut the strings holding him up. Jason surged forward to catch him, but cursed when his wrists caught. He was still handcuffed to the pipe.

Bruce landed heavily in Jason's lap, causing him to huff out a breath at the renewed surge of sensory input. Jason could see, with growing panic, the shiny blood against the black Kevlar. There was a puddle of it under the cape. He could feel it, warm and sticky, against his bare thighs.

"Batman!" Jason called, tugging at his handcuffs.

He should have noticed. He should have known something was wrong when Bruce didn't immediately get him out of the handcuffs. He was just as injured as—more injured than Jason. He couldn't see the bullet entry point—because that's what it had to be, right?—and what if there was more than one—through the armor that Batman wore.

"Bruce," Jason begged, rattling the pipe next to him.

Finally, the man stirred, eyes blinking open. "Jay?"

Jason wanted to sob with relief. Instead, he managed, "Stay awake." He looked around, for something to get him out of the handcuffs. The only thing he saw that either of them would be able to manage were the keys around the unconscious man's beltloop, but he didn't want to send Bruce that far away. And it wasn't like he'd be able to carry Bruce out of the warehouse. He was too big, too heavy, and that wasn't even taking into account Jason's leg.

Bruce's eyes had drifted shut. Jason tried to buck his knees to get his attention. He wasn't strong enough to lift Bruce's bulk, and it only made his injuries string in a blinding moment of pain. But the aborted movement was enough. The man's eyes slid open.

"Call Agent A," Jason commanded.

"Alfred," Bruce mumbled.

"Yes. Call him."

But Bruce had fallen unconscious again.

Jason cursed. Nobody could hear him, anyway. He tried reaching for his comm, but his handcuffs caught around a bracket too low. He couldn't bend forward to get his head closer because Bruce was in the way.

He abruptly changed tactics. He scoot back and wedged his arm over and around the bracket, giving one restrained hand another inch of reach. He was able to brush the tips of the cowl ears. Jason grit his teeth, pressing himself hard into the stretch. His left hand, the one that the man had stomped on, spasmed as the handcuff dug hard into the muscles and tendons in his wrist. But he reached the button to Bruce's comm.

Now he just had to pray somebody was there.

"Agent A." His own voice echoed back to him, distant and slightly warped, through his own comm.

He released the button to wait for a response. Just static.

He pressed forward again. "Agent A. Alfred."

When he released the button, it was to the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. "Robin. What is your status?"

"Batman's been shot."

He heard a breath sucked in on the other line. "Alright, lad. I need you to apply pressure—"

"I can't!" Jason gasped, his ribs twinging with the pain of bending oddly around the pipes. "I can't reach. I need—I need help."

It wasn't until he said it that he realized what he was asking. Alfred could hardly lift Bruce, either. And he certainly wasn't coming out here.

There was a moment of clicking, and then Alfred said, in a calm tone, "It is going to be okay. Stay calm. I am contacting backup."

Nightwing.

Before Jason could fully understand the implications, there was static as the radio was patched through. Followed by, "Batman? This had better not be—"

"How close are you?"

There was a pause. "Robin." The tone dropped flat. Icy.

"How soon can you get here?"

"Where's Batman?"

Jason huffed, releasing the stretch long enough to get blood flow back into his fingers before pulling back into the stretch. "He needs your help."

"What did you do?" Dick asked. Jason's heart stuttered.

"Nightwing," Alfred cut in. "Now is not the time."

A pause. Then, "Give me thirty minutes."

"Too long." Jason glanced over to the unconscious man on the floor. Who knew how long he would be out. He didn't want to still be here when he woke up. "He's been shot. He's unconscious."

"The best I can do is twenty." The static changed tone, indicating Nightwing had cut the line.

Jason sat back, releasing a slow breath. Dick could be such an ass.

Alfred spoke up, through his comm. "I have to leave the mic to prepare the Cave for your arrival. Try to keep him awake."

The static went out. Jason was alone again.

He stared at Bruce's bleeding side, impossibly far away, wishing he could apply pressure.

He hoped this wouldn't be the second parent he had watched die within the year.


End file.
